That there was such a thing as sentiment in the make-up of the Sheriff of Manzaneta County few people, perhaps, would have believed. Nevertheless, at the thought that this placard inspired, he dismissed whatever inclination he might have had to deal leniently with the culprit, and calmly observed:
“There is no reason, gentlemen, of being in a hurry. I’ve got something to say about this. I don’t forget, although I am the Sheriff of Manzaneta County, that I’m running four games. But it’s men like The Sidney Duck here that casts reflections on square-minded, sporting men like myself. And worse—far worse, gentlemen, he casts reflections on The Polka, the establishment of the one decent woman in Cloudy.”
“You bet!” affirmed Nick, indignantly.
“Yes, a lady, d’you hear me?” stormed Sonora, addressing the prisoner; then: “You lily-livered skunk!”
“Oh, let’s string ’im up!” urged Trinidad.
“Yes, come on, you...!” was Handsome’s ejaculation, contriving, at last, to get his hands on the faro dealer.
But again the Sheriff would have none of it.
“Hold on, hold on—” he began and paused to philosophise: “After all, gents, what’s death? A kick and you’re off;” and then went on: “I’ve thought of a worse punishment. Give him his coat.”
Surprised and perplexed at this order, Handsome, reluctantly, assisted the culprit into his coat.
“Put him over there,” the Sheriff now ordered.